


11 Blocks by Wrabel

by mssjynx



Series: song-prompted fics [2]
Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 18:24:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13641939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssjynx/pseuds/mssjynx
Summary: tyler wants to fix the mistakes he made, maybe all he needs is a push in the right direction





	11 Blocks by Wrabel

**Author's Note:**

> 2 of 3 song-prompted fics!

He knew the house just as well as he knew his own. He could picture it in his head without any difficulty, could imagine the soft yellow bricks that lined the outside, the little white stone path that lead from the blue picket gate to the front porch. The perfectly matching light blue wood that wore an old-fashioned silver door knocker, the metal in the form of an eagle spreading its wings, ready for flight.

He could see the interior of the house without struggle, the kitchen with the soft yellow cupboards and the stacks of light blue cutlery and plates that only came out on special occasions. He knew how much they’d cost, knew how much he’d made fun of their buyer for wasting money of them, know how special it felt to use them during the meals that they shared.

Memories painted the walls of his mind like the walls of the master bedroom, a light blue Tyler had always seen as far too childish to be in an adult’s room. The carpet was so soft he could recall the exact feeling of walking around on it bare foot. He hated wearing shoes inside that house.

He looked up at the blanket of black that covered the city. It always made him feel sick that he could see so little stars. With all the light pollution, he never felt good when he looked up at the night sky.

It took him a few minutes of gazing up into the dark abyss to realise he had a scowl twisting at his lips. He dropped his glare, shaking the angry look from his features. He always looked pissed at something. He always acted abrasively, always spoke with cutting words, always was _mean_.

A sigh rushed from his lungs and he let his eyes close, his focus on softening his face, his brows, his lips. It seemed so much easier to just frown. It seemed to much easier to be cold. But people gravitated towards warmth.

Eleven blocks. The house stood one storey high; yellow, red and white rose bushes growing just behind that blue picket fence. Tiles and carpet who’d meet his feet every day hadn’t seen them in three years. He knew he wasn’t allowed past that blue picket fence, knew he wasn’t wanted.

Who would want a scowl like that in their house?

-

He didn’t realise he had counted until he was sitting on the steps out the front of Evan’s house, cigarette between his lips. The Friday night bore a scent of toxic smoke and alcohol, music pumping from the inside of the house. He sat alone.

His eyes stayed on the smoke that he pushed from his lungs. Every time is dissipated, he exhaled another mouthful of the silver poison. Cigarettes had come back into his life three years ago. They replaced something that left, someone that left. An addiction for an addiction.

Fourteen blocks.

He felt stupid for counting as he walked from his house to Evan’s. The smoke on his tongue tasted even worse than usual. It tasted like something was missing. He blew it out in a frail attempt of removing the thoughts from his head like the smoke from his lungs.

The back of his head rested against the wooden post, eyes closed. He didn’t want to see the starless sky. The conscious effort to keep his lips from frowning and eyebrows from pinching was improvement. But his thoughts drifted and his mind jumped back to the same house over and over again. He gave up, sticking the rolled paper between his scowl.

-

Two blocks.

Evan had coaxed Tyler inside eventually, putting a drink in his hand and a pretty boy at his side. It didn’t take long for long lashes and flirty touches to realise they weren’t wanted. He finished his drink, finished another and lost count of how many charming smiles switched the glasses in his hand. Full, empty, full, empty, full, empty. He left one half empty on the edge of the table at 2:03am, grabbing his jacket with a blurry mind.

He walked down the pavement with his eyes on his feet. Counting.

Fourteen. Thirteen. Eleven…

He passed his house without even sparing it a glance. He knew if he did he wouldn’t have been able to keep walking. He knew he would have talked himself out of it, told himself not to go like he did every other day.

Nine. Six. Two…

He kept his feet moving and focused on the alcohol in his bloodstream. Through the cigarette smoke that clung to his clothes, the blue picket fence smelt strongly of paint. It had to be fresh. Redone in the last week? Last fortnight? He had no idea, but he loved the feeling of it under his fingers. He blinked lazily at yellow bricks, the front rooms with their curtains drawn. No light shone from inside.

Of course he would be asleep. Only morons like him would still be awake at two in the morning.

He sucked in a breath, wish he hadn’t left his pack of cigarettes on Evan’s porch

The gate didn’t creak like it used to. It swung open on oiled hinges and Tyler let his fingertips brush over the petals of a yellow rose, the flowers looking up at him curiously. _Why are you here? What do you want? What will you say?_ Their questions received no answers and Tyler felt a slight bit of pride swell in his lungs in replace of cigarette smoke when he realised his face was soft. He wasn’t glaring or scowling. He didn’t look cold. He didn’t feel cold.

When he stepped up onto the porch, he could swear his heart just stopped working. His lungs continued to breathe for him and he could still feel the alcohol in his system, but his pulse seemed to blur beneath his ribs. He didn’t waste time thinking about it, running his fingers down the blue-painted door. His index finger ran along the defined lines of the eagle, his lips pulling into a smile.

He didn’t realise what he was doing as his hand curled around the silver bird’s head. When he acknowledged where he was through his drunken haze, he was already tapping the knocker against the door. Three knocks. He stepped back.

He wasn’t supposed to be there, past the picket fence, past the roses, on that porch. He wasn’t allowed to knock on that door. He wasn’t allowed. He’d ruined his chances. He didn’t deserve to see him again. Yet by the time he processed these thoughts, it was too late to turn back and run. He knew fleeing was stupid and pathetic and he’d already fucked up enough. He glued his feet in place, holding his breath as a light flickered on behind curtains.

Three years. Eleven blocks.

The door opened. Wide tired eyes, parted lips, a hand frozen to the edge of the door. Tyler felt happiness glow in his chest as the expected twist of disgust never formed on that pretty face. He couldn’t breathe and he decided he really didn’t need to.

“Tyler?” The breath was a question. Confused? Hopeful? Sleep-deprived? Tyler couldn’t tell. He managed a lop-sided smile, knowing he was very obviously tipsy and he probably should have felt some sort of embarrassment. There was no space for that alongside the liquor.

“Hi Brocky.”


End file.
